


bound

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Series: cure for the enemy [4]
Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode Related, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Set During 1.06 - Bound, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6479410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor can’t decipher the look on Will’s face, but he’s inclined to think Will isn’t too eager to socialize outside the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bound

**Author's Note:**

> Things are slowly progressing, it seems. Whew! The next few episodes are pretty lacking in the Connor/Will department, so I'll probably skip a few or only mention major events in passing. (To be honest, I'm just eager to get to episode 12, because _really_.)
> 
> Please enjoy and comment if you have the time. Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Happy reading! :-)

“Nice work,” isn’t something he was ever expecting to hear from Will, not at this stage of their friendship, if he can call it that.

Connor takes the compliment but doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t allow himself to be flattered by it because this is Will he’s dealing with, after all, and that one admiring comment probably filled Will’s entire quota of nice-things-I’m-allowed-to-say-to-Connor for the day.

He’s not wrong, he finds out a moment later, as Will makes sure he mentions Connor’s family money just for the sake of it. “Hey, no offense, but not everyone’s born a Rhodes,” are the exact words, and they resonate in Connor’s skull like a bad headache.

“Thanks, I keep forgetting that,” Connor fires back. If Will’s looking to rile him up, he’s not gonna succeed.

Connor doesn’t blame him. He’s too infatuated with Natalie to care about building any other relationship on the job; that much is clear. Connor’s never had that, that kind of puppy love that alienates you from the world. He envies it, if he’s being honest with himself.

The thing with Zanetti is fun enough, but it isn’t love and never will be. He doesn’t kid himself. He’s never going to look at her like Will looks at Natalie, or vice-versa. They’ve laid down the ground rules, and it’ll be fun until it’s not; then, it’s over, just like that.

The thought—envy with just a hint of curiosity, because on a day like today, it’d be good to feel loved, for once—sits on the back of his mind as he goes on about another hectic day, business as usual.

It’s easy to forget about his mom, about his dad, if he focuses on work, on his patients, or even on Will. The problem is, he _isn’t_ focused, can’t be, not until later that night, until the million-dollar speech. God, the speech. It angers him as much as he thought it would, seeing his dad standing up there, commended, as if he were so selfless, so unaware of Connor knowing the truth, of his own actions.

Then, it hits Connor again—the envy, eating at the corners of his anger—and goes away as sudden as it came, disappears down a dark corner on the street, along with his dad and his fancy car. 

He’s relieved, despite everything. He doesn’t believe the word love was ever in his dad’s vocabulary, not in any noticeable way, but he’d rather have it from anyone else. 

He’s happy for Natalie and the baby, for Will, as he arrives in Natalie’s room after everyone is already there, and accepts the plastic cup half-filled with champagne that Will offers him, guarded but warm.

Connor smiles, steals a glance at Will, and Will smiles back, raises his cup in Connor’s direction before his attention snaps back to Natalie. Connor can’t stop looking at him. This color—so incandescently in love—suits him, makes him look less cynical, less like someone who’ll try to annoy Connor just for the sake of it.

“Hey, Rhodes,” he calls, an hour later, as Connor is getting ready to leave, a little champagne-happy. “Your coffee.”

Connor takes the cup with a smile, hand curling around the warmth of it and brushing up against Will’s in a miscalculated grab. He breathes in the familiar scent of an Americano, smiles. A little caffeine wouldn’t hurt.

“Nat fell asleep with Owen,” offers Will as he takes a step back. He smiles into his own cup, nodding in Connor’s direction. “Thought you needed one.”

Connor presses a hand to his eyes to try and fight the incoming migraine, snorts inelegantly, says, “I did, thanks.” He bites the inside of his bottom lip before asking, “You sticking around?”

Will shakes his head, looks away. “Nah.”

In his half-drunken haze, Connor chuckles into his cup, almost burns his tongue on too-hot coffee. He lets the silkiness sit in his mouth for a moment, watches Will play with the lid of his cup as if it were the most interesting item in the room.

“How’d you like the tie?” asks Connor, just to fill the silence.

Will’s eyes flit up in a mix of amusement and curiosity. “I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet.”

Connor’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh,” he says, eloquently, and receives an awkward laugh in return. He wonders if that was an invitation or if it’s his own hindered cognitive abilities misreading the situation.

He opens his mouth but his words fail him. Will gives him a small frown, followed by a hesitant smile, and he puts his coffee down, wets his lips.

“Hey, Will,” he says, waits for Will’s eyebrows to shoot up in his forehead. “You wanna grab a drink someday, on me?” At Will’s chuckle, he amends, “Or on you, if it makes you feel better.”

He can’t decipher the look on Will’s face, but he’s inclined to think Will isn’t too eager to socialize outside the job.

Will takes a long sip of his coffee and nods, moves toward the door. He opens it, stops on his way out to say, “Maybe,” and goes.

Connor watches him through the glass, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and almost forgets his Americano as he leaves.


End file.
